Rachelle McCalla - The Missing Monarch

“What? Octavian found you? He kidnapped you?” He gripped her by the shoulders and stared into her brown eyes seeking answers. But instead of answers, he felt a rush of emotions. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to protect her from Octavian. But it was too late. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Did you hear what I said?” Her words came out in a disbelieving whisper. “He kidnapped me. He sent me here to bring you to him.”

Thaddeus tried not to think about the beguiling way she looked at him through her long eyelashes. He tried not to consider how close her lips were to his. He had to understand what Monica was saying. “Octavian kidnapped you, and then you contacted Kirk. How did you do that?”

“Octavian already had his number.”

“How did he get it?”

“How did he find out about me?” She pulled her shoulders from his hands and stepped away. “You promised me that if I never spoke your name, never made any effort to contact you, never told anyone I’d ever met you, that I’d be safe.”

Thad’s mouth hung open. The realization of his worst fear sunk in slowly. Octavian had found out about Monica. He’d used her to get to him.

He’d underestimated his enemy.

Again.

“Octavian sent you here?” he confirmed.

“Yes. He hired the pilot to fly me around until I found you.”

Thad looked around frantically. “We’ve got to leave. We’ll have to sneak away and hide somewhere else.”

“No!” Monica’s voice rose to shouting. “Have you heard anything I’ve said? Octavian sent me to get you, to bring you to him.”

“We can’t go to him.” Thad tried to shush her with a glare that had sent many a calloused oil worker cowering.

“Listen.” She ignored his silencing expression. “Octavian needs your signature. He needs a document that he says you stole from him. He says if you sign it, he’ll leave us alone.”

Thad knew he had to contain the situation. Not only that, he needed to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that were thrashing inside him like the arctic waters during a storm.

Even above the constant reek of oil and ocean brine, he smelled her gentle, feminine scent, and memories flew from the prisons where he’d banished them.

She looked up at him, and he clutched his chest, trying to stifle the aching pain that originated there. He’d tried for six years to cauterize that part of his heart, but one look at her big brown eyes tore open the old wound, proving it had never really healed. Yearnings he hadn’t felt in years awakened from their long hibernation.

“We need to leave.” She spoke with a note of authority he hadn’t heard her use before. This wasn’t the meek graduate student he’d fallen for so long ago.

“We do.” He agreed. “We need to hide.”

“We need to return to Octavian.” She took his arm and pulled him toward the door. “The pilot said he’d wait half an hour. Thick fog is rolling in—he didn’t think he could wait any longer than that.”

The tug on his heart was even stronger than the pull on his arm, and he pulled her close to him. “I’ll hide you. He won’t find you again. But we can’t go with the pilot he hired. There is nothing outside of this oil rig that is more important than me keeping my head down.”

“Nothing?” Her lips twitched again, and Thad thought he caught a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. The sight of it tore at him. If there was any way he could have spared Monica the pain of what he’d put her through, he’d have done it. But shortly after they’d eloped in Lydia in a solitary ceremony witnessed only by his trusted friend Kirk and the deacon who’d conducted the service, the insulated world of Thad’s royal heritage had been shattered.

His father, King Philip of Lydia, had shared with Thad the ignoble agreement he’d struck with the billionaire Octavian. There was nothing his father could have done to change what had happened. After grilling his father on possible solutions, Thad had finally concluded the only way to keep all his loved ones safe and the tiny kingdom of Lydia free from the hands of a deluded would-be despot, was for him to leave.

He repeated his answer. “Nothing.”

* * *

Monica felt dizzy. Maybe it was a lingering effect from the plane ride, maybe the result of being awake for the past thirty-six hours straight, or maybe the rig itself was moving with the rocking waves.

She’d tried to talk that madman Octavian out of his plan. She hadn’t wanted to make this trip, but her life—and her son’s—were on the line. She struggled to recall everything Octavian had told her. The man had three objectives to achieve. If she wanted to get home to her little boy, she had to do as he asked.

“Thad, listen. Your father’s in a coma.”

“I know that.” An emotion flickered in his eyes. The thick mountain-man beard that covered most of his face made him almost unrecognizable, except for his eyes. After the many years they’d spent as friends, and the short weeks of love they’d shared afterward, she knew those eyes well. How long had she silently admired this man, content to be close friends, before he’d finally acted on the simmering attraction between them? How many years had she wanted to look into his eyes, content to catch friendly glimpses and look away before her true feelings were exposed? Mere weeks before graduation, Thad had finally realized that their friendship was something much deeper, and they’d gazed into each other’s eyes until she’d memorized every glimmer that hid there. She’d lost herself, staring into those eyes years before. She could lose herself there again if she wasn’t careful.

“Your father was missing for almost a week. The cr—”

Thad gave her a look that silenced her. She gulped a breath, took a step closer to him and spoke in a rushed whisper. “The crown has passed from him, and he can’t be king anymore. You’re his successor.”

“Parliament formed an oligarchy to rule for now. My sisters are a part of it. It’s fine.” Thad’s words were mostly silence and crisp articulations punctuated by anger.

“It’s not fine. Octavian wants you to—”

“I refuse to do anything Octavian asks me to do.”

Monica realized her hands were in fists. She slowly unclenched them, thinking of Peter. Octavian knew about Peter—he’d even given her the opportunity to call her mother and leave a cryptic message about having to go away on urgent unexpected business for a while. Her mother had been confused and concerned, but happy enough about spending more time with her grandson.

Peter was in good hands. He’d be safe—as long as she could convince Thad that he needed to cooperate with Octavian. She had to make Thad understand. But the last thing she wanted to do was tell him about Peter like this.

She had to make him see that Octavian’s way made sense. “The oligarchy was intended to be only a temporary solution until the rightful heir could be determined.”

Thad crossed his arms over his broad chest. “It’s simple. They can crown Alexander. He’s the oldest after me. He’s a perfectly capable leader.”

“But your father didn’t name Alexander his successor. He named you. Unless you renounce your claim to the throne—”

“In order for my renunciation to be recognized, I would have to travel in person—”

“Precisely. If you don’t intend to rule—”

“I don’t intend to appear publically—”

“You have to—”

“They can declare me legally dead.” Thad’s voice boomed, silencing their war of whispers.

She stared at him. No, maybe those weren’t Thad’s eyes after all. Maybe this person in Thad’s body was someone she didn’t know anymore. “You’re not dead.”